Miles drowsy eyes darted from Cameron to me, his brow rising with curiosity. He knew about my crush, didn't he? With an ego like his I bet he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to girls liking him.

"You can take her home, right?" Cameron asked as his phone dinged again.

Miles rubbed his fists across his eyes. His chocolate-colored hair was a mess atop his head, and paired with his sleepy eyes I figured he'd just been woken from a nap. "Yeah, sure."

My transportation problem solved, Cameron headed off for his date. Leaving me alone with his friend.

"You don't have to take me home," I told him, trying to focus anywhere other than his bare chest. "I can take the bus."

He chuckled to himself as I turned to leave. "See, at first I thought I was just imagining things. Now, it's obvious you've been avoiding me."

It was true, I had been avoiding him the past few days. I couldn't think straight around him. It was happening then as I tried to come up with an answer to his accusation. I should've been pissed at him for leaving the party with Vivian, but he was semi-shirtless and I that made it difficult to hold on to my anger.

I was hoping that he hadn't noticed me dodging him. That he'd been too busy with friend. Maybe he was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Still, I wasn't about to confess that to him.

Arms crossed, I turned back to him and held on tightly to the bit of anger I could grab on to. "Why would I be avoiding you?" I challenged. Maybe Cameron was right and I needed to give Miles an opportunity to explain what happened.

His green eyes locked on mine, offering up a challenge of his own. But there was a spark of playfulness in his gaze, like he knew something I didn't. "You tell me."

"I'm not." I shrugged, glancing down at Oreo, who was now circling around Miles' feet. "You're being paranoid."

"I thought maybe you were keeping your distance because of what happened on Halloween," he said, after a short silence. "Viv was just looking out for me."

I didn't know if he meant she was worried about his injury or if it was me she was trying to protect him from. She obviously knew about Jerrell. Had she told Miles? Did Vivian think I was trying to play him?

"She worries about me," he continued. "Sometimes it could come off as...jealousy."

He looked like he was biting back on of his signature smirks as he said the word "jealousy". Was he trying to say that I was jealous? Of him and Vivian? I was instantly annoyed.

"She's paranoid too. I guess that's why you make the perfect couple." There was a slight edge in my voice. Why'd he have to bring her up anyway?

His lips turned up into a half smile and all that anger I thought had disappeared flooded my veins. "We're just -"

"Friends. I know," I snapped. He was like a broken record. "Are you going to take me home or..."

The amusement slipped off his face, his brows pinching together. He probably just realized I wasn't I wasn't in the mood for games. "I thought you wanted to take the bus?"

His dismissive tone stung, taking me by surprise . Turning on my heels, I walked over to the door. Only managing to get it opened a crack, before it was pushed closed.

I was all too aware of how close we were as I turned again to face him. So close that I could feel the warmth radiating from him and see the light sprinkle of freckles on his face. I tried to steady my breathing as his green eyes met with my brown ones.

"Sorry," he said, more too himself than to me. Louder he added, "I'll take you home. Just let me get changed."

Once again, I felt that build up of anger start to dissolve in my chest.

Nodding was my only means of communication, as him being so close to me made forming words too difficult. He stepped away, disappearing up the stairs and breathing became simpler.

Oreo was perched on the wooden banister of the stairs and I couldn't help but feel like his gem colored eyes were judging me.

+ + +

The drive to my house was tense. The only sound came from the pouring rain and the swish of the windshield wipers. Miles's knuckles were white from how tightly he gripped the wheel, his jaw locked as he stared straight ahead at the road. The new scar above his eye did make him look badass. Meaner.

"I'm sorry," he said, breaking the silence between us and, honestly, shocking me. "For leaving you at the party. If it makes you feel any better, I lost the bet."

"Good." I already knew about the bet, but the apology did make me feel a little better. He sounded genuine. Also, I was finding it difficult to stay mad at him.

He relaxed his grip on the wheel, but I could tell his something was still weighing on him. At first, I thought maybe it was me. Then I realized how vain that sounded. He had other things going on in his life.

Whatever it was eating away at him, I wanted to fix it. It didn't feel right, him being cold and dark—his current mood mirroring the storm we drove in.

When he pulled into my driveway, I noted that Mom wasn't back from her appointment yet. My thoughts played tug-of-war trying to decide what I should do next. The silence between us was growing awkward, so I blurted out the first words that came to mind.

"Do you want to come inside?"

"You scared of the dark?" He teased, looking up at my pitch-black house.

"No," I said, dragging out the word as I tried to come up with a good enough reason for inviting him in. "I need your opinion on some designs for the fashion show."

"Wouldn't the twins be a better option for this?"

"There are a few designs for men I could use a guy's opinion on." It wasn't a complete lie, we were toying with the idea of adding some male pieces. I had sketched out a few ideas. They weren't very good and I had already made up my mind that I wasn't going to use them. He didn't know that, though.

"Okay," he said, unclicking his seatbelt.

I did the same and he followed me into the house. The short distance from his car to the porch had managed to be enough to soak us in the rain.

"Do you want something to drink?" I offered after we removed our wet hoodies, stashing them in the coat closet.

"I'm good, thanks." His eyes wandered around the house, taking in the decorations.

It was always inviting someone knew into your home. I didn't think my mom's figurine collect was weird, but maybe Miles did.

"I'll go grab the sketches," I told him, leading him into the living room. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess."

That sounded weirder than I anticipated and I cursed myself for being so awkward. I had no idea what my plan was now that he was in my house. How would I go about cheering him up? 

When I got to my room, I sucked in a few breaths to collect myself. The calming effects of slow breathing didn't last long.

Panic swept over me when I glanced down at my floor. The pile of crumpled designs were no longer there. Did Mom come up here to clean up? How weird would I look for inviting him inside to look at designs that I didn't have?

Just as I was about to pull out my phone and text my mom, a stack of wrinkled paper caught my eye. There were three stacks. Each with a pink sticky note on top.

The notes read:

LOVED THESE!!

HAS POTENTIAL

???

Each written in Mom's neat hand writing. The last pile filed under "???" had only one sketch in it. The weird tutu dress. A smile spread across my face at the thought of her carefully trying to smooth the wrinkles from each sheet of paper. She really was the best mom.

Shuffling through the papers, I pulled out the two designs that featured men. They were casual, the focus point being the shirts that had graphics of the school's Spartan mascot. Riley mentioned that the current school merch needed an upgrade, so I was inspired.

When I made it back down stairs, Miles was standing in the living room, looking at the family photos in the bookshelf that contained more figurines of Black children than actual books.

"This looks very familiar," he said, pointing to one of the pictures. A teasing smile tugged at his lips.

The picture was of three year old me and Mom in a pool. I looked like I was about to cry, or maybe I was crying?

My eyes narrowed at the boy beside me and his smile grew with amusement. "Too soon?"

I cracked a small smile myself, happy to see that he was in a better mood.

"Why isn't your dad in any of them?"

"He didn't like having his picture taken," I told him, glancing over the pictures. Dad was actually there for most of the pictures, behind the camera. The few pictures we did have him were tucked away in photo albums. They used to be framed, but after the accident Mom put them away thinking that would stop my nightmares. It didn't.

"My mom was the opposite. She decided to put out every picture of Rose for the wake. Our house felt like a shrine." He let out a dry laugh, running his fingers through his hair. "Still does."

His words sounded resentful and bitter. It didn't make sense because the last time he brought up his sister it looked like he adored her.

"I thought you and her were close?"

"No, we were," he assured me as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, his eyes trained on the floor. I don't think I'd ever seen him this serious before. A conversation like that with anyone else would've made me squirm, or at least tune them out with whatever lyrics popped into my head. With him it was different. I wanted to listen, to help him. Even if that meant just lending an ear. So, that's what I did. Just listened.

"It's just the way they treated her, especially my dad. To them, Rose was the perfect kid. Always at the top of her class, getting accepted into the best schools and then there's me. The screw up. Always angry, getting into fights, skipping class."

That sounded nothing like the Miles I knew. "I never took you for a fighter," I said, causing him to turn his attention to me. He almost looked surprised to see me there, like he'd forgotten I was even in the room.

"The guidance counselor suggested I try football to work out my aggression and—" His words trailed off as he tangled his fingers in his hair again, making it look messier than before. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you any of this."

"No, it's fine," I told him. "Did something happen?"

"No, it's nothing. It's stupid. You wouldn't get it," he said with a wave of his hand. "I should probably go."

"Oh, okay." I nodded, folding the sketches I held in my hand.

"I'll see you at school," he said as he walked to the coat closet for his hoodie. After slipping it on and pulling up the hood, he left.

The sound of the rain deafeningly loud as he pounded against the pavement. I stood at the door, watching as he backed out of driveway. His abrupt departure was like a rejection, and it hurt like hell.